


The Beast

by Obese



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boot Camp, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Belly Kink, Bestiality, Captivity, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fat Shaming, Fat fetish, Feminazi, Feminist Themes, Heavy BDSM, Inflation, Kidnapping, Multi, Physical Abuse, Rape, Sex Toys, Stuffing, Violent Sex, Weight Gain, jellies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obese/pseuds/Obese
Summary: Jade didn't expect things to go like this. At all.She was just supposed to be at home, blogging about how much she hates misogynists. Ranting about all the near misses she had during the course of the day. As per usual.She wasn't supposed to be chained to a wall with one standing over her, brandishing a whip and licking his lips salaciously.But here she is.





	The Beast

Jade doesn’t expect to spend her evening like this.

 

Honestly, her plan was to just spend her evening on Tumblr, whining and ranting about chauvinistic pigs and the gender pay gap. Complaining about how oppressed womyn are in modern-day America. Maybe she’d throw in an anecdote about a cis white male holding a door open for her, too. It should’ve just been an ordinary evening; an evening like any other.

 

But her plan’s most harshly derailed when she’s snatched up on her way back to her penthouse.  

 

It happens too quickly to process properly. One moment, she’s scooting home, mobility scooter struggling over the uneven pavement—and then the next, she’s being tipped over. Her head smashes against the ground and she roars in rage.

 

“Filthy misogynists!” she yells, assuming that the label’s correct despite not being able to actually see the cause of her sudden indignity. “Upright me!”

 

But instead of her command being followed (as it _ought_ to be), she’s met with a hand clamped over her face, and after a few breaths in, her vision’s fading.

 

*

 

When Jade comes to, it takes her a good long while to make sense of her surroundings.

 

On all sides are—are womyn. But these don’t seem to be— _normal_ womyn.

 

All disgustingly skinny, all looking equally upset, all with that telltale mark off systematic oppression by the patriarchal society hanging over them.

 

These are—these are _women._

 

Wo _men._

 

_Men!_

 

Chauvinistic pigs!

 

As soon as the thought registers, she yells out in panic and rage. _Naturally;_ she’s long since broken free of the social restraints imposed upon her by the Males, and she won’t be silenced by their entitled rules.

 

“Oppression!” seems to be the most natural thing to say, given her current circumstances. So that’s what she shapes her yells into, and the womyn—no, the _women—_ around her shift uncomfortably at the sound of her dulcet tones.

 

“Shut it,” one eventually says, when it begins to become apparent that Jade has no intentions of stopping without outside intervention.

 

Jade rounds on her immediately, and attempts to drive herself forwards so that she can let this poor victim know just how badly she’s been conditioned into docility by the Males, but it’s then that she’s struck by a sudden horror.

 

She can’t move.

 

Her mobility scooter is _gone._

 

Forgetting about the womyn—the _woman—_ entirely, she begins to roar in fury. And this time, it’s for a _very_ different reason.

 

“Give me back my scooter!” she bellows, glaring around at the anorexically skinny victims of systematic oppression with an expression that clearly says “I am a strong womyn who needs no male validation!”. It’s her favourite expression; she usually uses it when a cis white male walks past her on the street. It’s designed specifically to scare off potential rapists and disgusting chauvinists. But it seems prudent to utilise it now, faced by all these horrifically underweight womyn—these _women—_ and so she does.

 

But alas—it appears to not quite have the desired effect, because none of the anorexically underweight victims of oppression seem fazed in the slightest.

 

“She’s fat,” one of them comments idly, to general murmurs of agreement.

 

“I think she has eight chins,” says another.

 

“Obese hog,” a third says, eyes widening comically as she appears to take in Jade’s—er, girth.

 

Now—Jade knows that she isn’t the daintiest womyn on earth.

 

No; she’s the most _independent!_

 

And with that thought in mind, she raises a pudgy finger threateningly. It’s a more strenuous task than Jade’s willing to admit.

 

“Listen here, man-lover,” she starts lowly, gaze fixed on the womyn’s—no, the _woman’s—_ lack of size. “Meat is for men! Only dogs like bones! Health at every size!”

 

The womyn— _woman—_ stares inscrutably at her for a second before bursting into laughter.

 

“But you’re—” and she wiggles her hands vaguely at Jade, “—you’re _obese!”_

 

Jade bristles in rage. These womyn—these _women—_ have been brainwashed by the patriarchy!

 

“Do not use that derogatory slur,” she growls at the victim of oppression.

 

“It’s a _medical term,”_ she answers back rudely, and Jade has to resist the urge to open her mouth and swallow the victim’s head whole. As a past victim of oppression, she’s developed a very keen air of calmness, and she utilises that now. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out. A few Big Macs from the secret stash that’s been cleverly hidden between her cleavage.

 

It’s an especially clever place to hide her snacks, because if a male tries to steal them, Jade can just scream “rape” and wait for her fellow womyn to come charging in, branding irons and fire hydrants at the ready. There’s nothing better than shoving a chauvinistic pig down onto a fire hydrant, a branding iron halfway down his throat. Except possibly uploading it to social media, attractively entitled “Watch What Happens When Chauvinist Attempts To Oppress Strong Womyn!”

 

Jade chews on the burger voraciously, staring at the victim of oppression deeply in the eyes. Eye contact is a sure winner, so she’s heard. Especially with no blinking. It intimidates the opposition into acquiescing—or something like that. Something about predators and prey that she can’t quite remember.

 

And, sure enough, the victim of oppression that’d been so cruelly taunting her (parroting the filth force-fed to her by male chauvinists, no doubt, the poor thing) only minutes prior, looks off to the side in apparent embarrassment.

 

“Fatty,” she mutters, disgust saturating both syllables.

 

Jade opens her mouth to retort, but the fear of accidentally spitting some burger out keeps her silent. With no mobility scooter, she won’t be able to chase down any rogue bites of masticated chunks of burger that may come shooting out.

 

Instead, she continues to messily chew her chocolate, staring intimidatingly around at the anorexically skinny victims of oppression, lined up opposite her. Identical expressions of disgust cloud all of their faces.

 

Looking at them, Jade wonders just what’s happened to these specimens. They’re all horrifically skinny; as though they’ve been starved for years. Fed only a measly five thousand calories a day. They’re _standing up._

 

Now, this—this right here is the epitome of a hive mind, she thinks to herself with a kind of pitying disgust.

 

So many potential strong womyn; so much oppression.

 

It makes Jade feel positively ill to contemplate such a thing, and so she does what she always does when she feels ill.

 

She eats.

 

Granted: she’s already eating, but the point is always that she can eat _more._

 

That’s why she keeps ten tubes of Pringles stuffed inside her maxi-leggings at all times.

 

She pulls one out and rips the lid off, brings it to her mouth, tilts it back so that the crisps cascade into her gullet. She chews aggressively and glares at the womyn—at the _women—_

 

But before she gets to finish even that first tube of Pringles, the door’s thrown open, and a shadow is cast into the room. All of the oppressed womyn— _women—_ turn around as one and sink to the floor in a low bow.

 

“Hello, Master,” they murmur in perfect unison.

 

Jade just about explodes from fury.

 

“Male bigot!” she spits angrily.

 

The figure in the doorway approaches her slowly, kicking an oppressed womyn out of the way as he comes. 

 

“What did you just call me,” he asks her, _“fatty?”_

 

“Disgusting bigot!” she shouts again, jowls a-quiver. “Health at every size! Don’t oppress strong womyn! Mass suicide of males!”

 

The Male merely looks at her, unimpressed, before snapping his fingers once.

 

“Take this fatty away,” he commands the womyn—no, the _women._

 

And—what a hive mind—they _obey_ him. They rapidly approach Jade and hoist her, with _extreme_ difficulty, to her feet. Or, to where her feet would be if they weren’t swathed entirely in fat.

 

“Get going,” the Male orders them, and they set off instantly.

 

Jade’s carried out by the oppressed victims, kicking and screaming. Her can of Pringles clatters to the floor after the Male knocks it out of her ham-like fist, and she howls in fury, tossing her head back so far that her neck cricks.  

 

“Stop oppressing me!” she roars, but nobody pays her any heed whatsoever.

 

“Miss Obese,” the Male catcalls after her. “That’s your new name!”

 

It’s an unceremonious affair, removing her from the room, and she gets into such a tizz over starving to death that she smashes her head against a wall (or maybe one of the poor victims of oppression has enough of her roaring) and is promptly knocked out.

 

Maybe that’s for the better, though.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcomed. If you enjoyed this, but don't leave a comment, you're just a plain arsehole. - L.


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